


Setbacks

by zannyvix



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: 5K Training, Abel Township, Gen, Hospital, Injury, Knitting, Recovery, sprained ankle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:59:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zannyvix/pseuds/zannyvix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Runner Five has a bad step in the midst of training and takes a tumble, resulting in a sprained ankle and a bruised ego. Sam and Dr. Myers step in to help. Runner Five ruminates on how this will set back the 5K training necessary to become a full fledged runner for Abel Township.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Setbacks

**Author's Note:**

> This is set precisely seven minutes into Week Eight Workout One of the Zombies, Run! 5k training app, and more or less parallels my own experience with an injury while running. The main difference is in reality I didn't have Sam and Dr. Myers to help me limp back home and clean up. I had to do it myself. Would have been a lot nicer with help. In keeping with the spirit of the Zombies, Run! apps, I tried to keep references to Runner Five gender neutral so they can be from anyone's perspective. No major spoilers, but does reference events from the 5k training storyline and Season One Mission One of the main app.

I still don't know what really happened. One second I was running along with Sam and Dr. Myers, going at a steady ground-eating clip, and the next I was down, bam! My right ankle rolled and my legs went out from under me, and I hit the cracked concrete of Abel's training yard hard enough to take a fair bit of skin off my knees and palms. In the first few shocked seconds after my stumble I barely registered my companions' concerned voices. Momentarily stunned, I managed to turn over and try to take stock of my injuries. The scuffs on my hands weren't bad, but there was dirt ground into the bleeding scrapes on my knees, and a six inch long swath of road rash on my left shin, and my right ankle throbbed painfully in time with each laboured beat of my heart.

Dr. Myers had broken off the run to kneel beside me. "Let me see," she ordered, her voice gone brusque and professional. I sat there on the ground and let her cluck over me for a moment while endorphins and adrenaline bled the pain away, keeping it momentarily at bay. Sam hovered like a nervous mother hen, all but wringing his hands over my tumble.

"Five! Are you-?"

"Sam, I want to get Runner Five back to the infirmary," Dr. Myers broke in. "These scrapes need to be tended immediately. I'm less concerned about infection here inside Abel than if you'd gotten them out in the field, but it's still a danger, and I want to get a better look at that ankle." She glanced up at me. "Do you think you can walk?"

"I can try," I told her. I had to grit my teeth to do it, but between Sam and the doctor, I managed to get back to my feet. I tried to put weight on my injured ankle and hissed as pain shot up my leg. Not good. I'm supposed to be training as one of Abel's runners. That means my legs, my ability to walk, to run, is everything. I tried a few steps on my own, managing a sorry limp, but little more. Sam made a dismayed noise.

"Come on, Runner Five," Dr. Myers said, putting an arm under my shoulders to support my injured side. "Let's go get you cleaned up. Sam? I want you to go let Runner Seven know that Five is out of commission until I say otherwise, all right?"

"Tell Runner Seven. Right. Yes. I can do that," Sam said, running his hands through his hair in a nervous gesture. it stuck up in wild black spikes in the wake of his fingers. "Is Five going to be... Are you all right, Five?"

I worked up a faint smile. "I'll manage," I promised.

"It's probably just a sprain, Sam, but I need to do a proper examination to make sure. Go on, now and tell Runner Seven."

Nobody argues with the doc when she gives an order. She never has to so much as raise her voice. It's simply understood. Sam nodded hurriedly, looking a bit like an oversized bobble head doll, and took off back towards the barracks where most of the runners were quartered. Dr. Myers turned to help me back in the direction of Abel's makeshift infirmary. It's closer to a bare bones camp hospital than anything, but it's all the township has, and in the weeks I've been here, we've certainly had cause to be grateful for it. Until now I hadn't had much need for its services. Minor muscle strain and soreness I could tough out on my own.

Abel's a small township, and news travels fast. I had swallow back a flush of embarrassment as no less than three people stopped to express their concerns and well wishes before we even reached the infirmary. I felt thoroughly like a clumsy heel by the time the doc helped me inside. The exam table had started life as a heavy farmhouse kitchen table, reinforced with clumsy but effective carpentry to make sure it was sturdy enough to support the weight of patients. With some difficulty, I clambered up on it. It took an effort to sit still while Dr. Myers cleaned the blood and grit off my palms and knees with a clean boiled cotton rag and a splash of whiskey. Nobody can afford to drink recreationally anymore. Alcohol is more valuable as a disinfectant. By the time she finished, I was cursing low, trying to keep it under my breath. The doctor gave me a sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry it hurts, but it's better to get everything cleaned out right away."

"Not arguing with you, Doc," I murmured, concentrating on ignoring the sting. I gritted my teeth as she bent to unlace my trainer and eased the shoe off. The sock followed. Her hands were gentle, but I couldn't quite swallow back a whimper as she bent my foot this way and that. It hurt.

"Not much swelling or bruising, at least not yet," she said, her tone clinical. Dr. Myers sighed. "What I wouldn't give for a proper x-ray. Any shooting pains? Grinding or clicking noises?"

I managed to shake my head no. "Just hurts," I rasped.

"Likely a bad sprain. I'll wrap it for you. For the first couple of days I want you to stay off it as much as possible, and keep it elevated when you can. I wish we had ice, but you'll have to make due with cold compresses and ibuprofen to keep the swelling down."

Anxiety clenched my stomach. "Can you spare the painkillers?"

"We have enough," she told me, which meant no, but she was going to give me some anyway. "It will help prevent inflammation. I want to keep the swelling to a minimum just until we're sure it's only a sprain and not a fracture." The doctor straightened up. "I'll see if we can scare up a crutch or a cane or walking stick for you until it heals."

I grimaced. "Ask Eugene, he might have something."

"Good thinking." Dr. Myers said, reaching for a roll of ace bandage. I bit my lip while she wrapped my injured ankle, but the support felt good when she was done. "How's that?"

"Better," I admitted. I let her help me climb down, careful to keep my weight off my injured limb.

She helped me over to a cot and put a couple folded blankets under my leg. A faded terry towel, dunked in cold water, squeezed out, and rolled up, went on top to help provide a little cooling relief. "Get some rest. You'll be back on your feet in a few days."

"Thanks, Doc."

I smiled back, though inside I felt like a heel. Since the moment I'd come racing through the gates of Abel, a hoard of zombies at my back chasing me from that downed helicopter, it had been impressed on me that everyone here had to pull their weight. There wasn't a great deal of work for freelance illustrators who bid for commissions on the now non-existent Internet before the world as we knew it came to an end. I pulled my weight by training to be a runner for the township. There had been no contact with Mullins since the rocket launcher attack that took down the chopper that brought me in, nothing at all in more than seven weeks. Even if there had been, Mullins was a military organization, and I'd been only a civilian refugee there. For better or for worse, Abel was my home now, and at the moment I was little more than a drain on resources.

I laid on my cot, stared up at the rough and many-times patched green army surplus canvas over my head, and tried to take the doctor's advice. It was harder than it sounded, a lot harder. I had been all keyed up to start my last week of training so I could go out in the field for real, and now I was down for the count until my ankle got better. I hoped Dr. Myers was right, and it was just a sprain. The less downtime I spent, the better. A fracture or a break could lay me up for weeks, or worse. We still didn't have much in the way of antibiotics, or any medications, really. If wounds went bad, the only fallback solution was good old fashioned amputation, like Eugene's leg. I shuddered at the thought.

Dr. Myers came back after a few minutes with a couple small brown pills and a glass of water, which I dutifully downed without protest. An anxious Sam trailed in her wake. I swallowed and handed the cup back.

"Hi, Sam."

"Five! How... How are you doing? Did quite the bang up job on the old ankle, I see." He chuckled nervously. Sam always seems to get flustered when he's upset.

"Yeah, I busted myself up pretty good," I agreed. "Still not sure what I tripped over. Probably my own feet."

"Runner Seven has the off duty runners out sweeping the track to clear loose stones and marking cracks and broken pavement to make sure no one else turns an ankle," he told me. "Though he'll probably stop in to check on you later."

"I bet they're just loving that." I felt my face heat. "I feel like an idiot," I confessed. I'm not used to being fussed over at the best of times.

"Hey, it was an accident!" Sam reassured me. "Accidents happen. Better here than outside the gates with a hoard of hungry undead bearing down on you, right?"

"I suppose so," I agreed.

"Trust me, you'll be back on your feet and evading zoms for real in no time," he promised.

"I'm mostly mad at myself," I admitted. "Now it's going to be days before I can do more than hobble. I want to help, to be part of Abel for real, not just a drag on resources."

"You'll be back out there before you know it." His smile was friendly as he sank into a battered folding camp chair. "Hunting supplies, passing messages, dodging the undead. You'll be downright sick of hearing me chattering away in your ear, then. I bet you'll look back on this time as a holiday."

"Some holiday," I said, glumly studying my ankle in its wrapping. "I just don't like feeling useless, Sam. I mean, I know I wasn't all that much of a help during training, but at least it felt like I was getting to the point where I could help out."

He patted my shoulder a little awkwardly. "Hey, just give yourself a break. You're not useless. Everyone has spills now and then. Look at Runner Six. She tore up a leg far worse than a sprain, and she'll be getting back out there again, but not until she's healed, just like you need to do."

"Especially not if she tears her stitches again," I murmured. I was pretty sure the painkillers were kicking in, finally. The aching throb in my ankle was beginning to subside.

"That was a close call," Sam agreed. "Listen, Five, I'm really glad you're going to be okay. When you went down, I thought... I don't know what I thought, and it's not like I'm glad you're hurt, but... I'm just glad it turned out not to be worse than it is."

I smiled. "Me too, Sam."

Someone cleared their throat near the infirmary's entrance, drawing my attention in that direction. "How are you holding up, Five?" Runner Seven, Evan Deaubl, is head of runners here at Abel. He's a spare man with a serious, no nonsense bearing who brooks immediate respect. He even makes little old civilian me want to snap to with a salute and a yes sir.

"I'll be all right, Seven," I returned. I'm not sure who at Abel came up with the tradition of calling runners by their numbers instead of their names, but I'd fallen into the habit along with everyone else. "Dr. Myers thinks its just a bad sprain and some scrapes."

"Take it easy in any case, Five," he ordered. "We can't afford to lose any runners, even partially trained ones. You're to follow the doctor's orders until further notice. We'll ease you back into training once Dr. Myers feels your ankle is strong enough. I know this feels like a setback, but it's important you don't push yourself prematurely and end up aggravating the injury like Runner Six did."

I nodded. "I understand completely." I had to bite off an unspoken sir at the end of my sentence. "Is there anything I can do in the time being? I'm sorry, I'm just not very good at sitting idle."

Evan frowned thoughtfully. "I'll send Runner Four by to see you when she comes off duty. She may have some ideas for how you can stay useful in your down time. Until then, get some rest, recover, and join us again as soon as you're able." With that, he slipped back out of the infirmary tent.

"I hope you like knitting," Sam commented from beside my cot. "Jody's been on a tear since the two of you raided that craft store."

"I don't even know how," I confessed, a helpless little bubble of absurd mirth welling up in my chest. Knitting. Well, it was certainly better than nothing, I supposed. It's not a real zombie apocalypse if you can't laugh at yourself at least some of the time.

"Well, we can always use exta socks," Sam said gamely. "Tell you what, Jack has a deck of cards in his bunk. I could invite him and Eugene down after they finish their broadcast and we could keep you company." He shifted guiltily when the doctor cleared her throat pointedly. "...That is, if Dr. Myers agrees, of course."

"I don't want you cluttering up my infirmary and bothering my patients," she said sternly, "but... I suppose it would be all right, provided you keep it to a dull roar."

"I promise we will," Sam said with a hint of eagerness that made me wonder what I was getting myself into. I'm not much of a betting person as a general rule.

"Sounds good, Sam," I agreed. He grinned back at me, the happiest he'd looked since I went sprawling on the pavement.

"I'll see you later, Five! Have fun learning to knit with Runner Four."

"I'll try," I said gamely. I _had_ asked for something productive to do, after all. I could hardly complain now. Sam stood up and with a little wave, took his leave of the infirmary. That just left me and Dr. Myers, and she was busy cleaning things away. I bit back a sigh and resumed staring at the canvas ceiling. A sprain would mend given time. I couldn't get back time lost to recovery, but I could retrain, and eventually I would earn full status as a runner, and my keep, here at Abel. Until then, I just had to bide my time, take everyone's advice, and heal as fast as my body allowed.


End file.
